


Upside Down

by silverpen



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8204261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverpen/pseuds/silverpen
Summary: Erin isn't a huge fan of fairs. She doesn't much like the rides, or the food, or the games.
But she does like Holtzmann.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write this instead of working on my thesis for my French major. But hey, there's no Holtzbert in my thesis. No fairs, either. So this seems justified.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. :) Either way, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think in the comments. And if you feel so inclined, say hello on tumblr: @through-space-and-mind.

Erin sat in the back seat, feeling smug.

“Shut up,” muttered Abby from her right.

“I said nothing,” said Erin innocently.

“Yes, and it was a very loud nothing.”

Erin’s gloating smile widened. For the first time, _the actual first time_ , she had completely avoided getting slimed on a bust. And their first bust outside the city, no less. The slime hadn’t touched her at all.

Which was much more than she could say for Abby or Patty.

Patty had tried to grab Erin and use her as a buffer, as she had once before. But this time Erin dove out of the way, leaving Patty to duck behind Abby instead. Ultimately, the ghost ectoprojected all over both of them.

Holtzmann, as usual, remained unscathed. Somehow, the woman with the least sense of self-preservation was the most resistant to ghost slime. It was beyond Erin how she did it. 

(She had tried to ask once, after a particularly tough bust, but it had come out all wrong: “Holtz, why is your face so clean and perfect?” Holtzmann had beamed, and then smirked. Erin had blushed, and then fled to her desk.)

So today was a big day for Erin, and she intended to make the most of it. She stretched out in her seat. Usually Patty made her sit atop a tarp on the way back, to keep the slime off the hearse’s leather. There was a unique joy in not having an extra layer of plastic between oneself and one’s car seat, Erin thought.

Then Holtzmann let out a loud, dramatic gasp from the front.

Erin’s eyes snapped up immediately. Abby made a face at her, a face that meant _You’re doing that thing where you stare at Holtzmann every time she makes a sound._

Erin recognized the face because it had been happening a lot lately. But she couldn’t help it! It was just a practical adaptation to the fact that Holtzmann-sounds were often accompanied by fires or explosions, or both. It had nothing to do with her clean and perfect face.

“Faaaaaaaaaaair,” said Holtzmann, drawing out the word until the diphthong had morphed into multiple syllables.

Erin followed her line of sight. Sure enough, she saw the top of a Ferris wheel in the distance, as well as a lot of colorful flashing lights. Probably one of those small carnivals that popped up during the summer in mall parking lots.

“I love you, Holtzy,” said Patty, “but not enough to let this stuff solidify on my skin while you spin around in a giant teacup.”

“Seconded, sorry,” said Abby. “I just want to get back to the hotel, shower, and order room service from my pillow cocoon.”

Erin looked at Holtzmann’s face in the rearview mirror. She was pouting. And damn her, it was very effective.

“Errrrin?” Holtzmann said hopefully, meeting Erin’s gaze in the mirror.

Erin swallowed. She didn’t like amusement park rides.

“Please, Erin? Go to the fair with me? I’ll win you a stuffed animal.”

Erin’s stomach did a flip-flop. Which was completely unreasonable. She shouldn’t feel affectionate over a theoretical stuffed animal.

Abby was giving her The Face, too, so she was probably staring again. And maybe blushing.

“ _Pretty_ please, pretty Erin?”

Yeah, she was definitely blushing.

Erin swallowed. “Okay, Holtz, I’ll go to the fair with you.”

Holtzmann’s face lit up, and when she smiled dimples appeared and her nose scrunched, and it was positively the most beautiful thing Erin had ever seen in a rearview mirror, and for the rest of the ride to drop off Patty and Abby at the hotel, she thought that maybe going to the fair wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

 “How many tickets do you think we need?” asked Erin, fiddling with her hands while they waited in line. “Ten?”

Next to her, Holtzmann was bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. She reminded Erin of the old-fashioned wooden toys with the button on the bottom. The ones where you pushed up the button and the animal puppet flailed around or flopped over, and then popped straight up again. That was Holtzmann.

The woman in question paused in her bouncing to give Erin an incredulous look. _“Ten?”_

“Um,” said Erin. “Ten each?”

“Erin,” said Holtzmann, fixing her with a very serious expression, “obviously we are getting the wristbands. Unlimited rides.” She took a breath and repeated herself in a deep voice that was halfway between seductress and horror movie villain. “Unlimited. _Rides_.”

Erin resisted the urge to fidget under her gaze. Holtzmann’s eyes, she had learned, had two extremes. They either didn’t look at you at all—Erin thought, actually, that Holtzmann wasn’t too fond of eye contact in general—or they looked at you _so intensely_ that you forgot everything except the precise shade of her irises.

Right now was the second situation.

“Erin,” said Holtzmann, with a tone that suggested she’d already said it several times.

“Steely-ice-blue,” Erin said, whose world was still limited to Holtzmann’s eyes. The phrase came out so quickly and unplanned that it was almost a single word, and she promptly wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.

Holtzmann, luckily, mostly just looked confused.

“What?” she said.

“What?” Erin repeated.

Holtzmann bobbed her head backward a bit.

“Unlimited wristbands sounds good,” said Erin before Holtzmann could interrogate her further. “Look, we’re next in line.”

They bought the wristbands. Holtzmann pulled the sticker off of hers with her teeth and looped it loosely and unevenly around her wrist in a matter of seconds. Erin took more care, so that both ends of the adhesive paper lined up perfectly with each other.

Holtzmann was uncharacteristically still while she did so, and then she grabbed Erin’s hand in hers and physically dragged her in the direction of the chair swing ride.

“We start with the swings,” Holtzmann explained as they went, “because they go high enough to take stock of the rest of the fair. Make a game plan.”

“We can already see the whole fair,” Erin pointed out. It was indeed constructed in a mall parking lot, and it only occupied half of the space.

“Shhhh,” said Holtzmann dismissively.

“And wouldn’t the Ferris wheel be better for surveying?” Erin continued, because talking about ride logistics was safer than talking about the depths of her coworker’s dreamy eyes. “It’s slower.”

Holtzmann shushed her again. “The Ferris wheel is for the end of the evening, Gilbert,” she said firmly. “Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t think they do.”

“Shhhhh. Here we are.”

“Would now be a good time to mention that I’m slightly … uncomfortable with heights?” Erin said in a small voice as Holtzmann made a beeline for a bright yellow pair of swings and plopped down in one of them. The chains shook. Erin shuddered.

“You can hold my hand if you get scared,” Holtzmann offered.

“I think I’ll hold the safety bar,” Erin said.

“Your loss.” Holtzmann smirked.

The ride began, and Erin squeezed her eyes shut immediately. Holtz let out a whoop beside her.

“Erin,” she said, voice unnaturally loud to compete with the wind building around them, “you can’t see anything if your eyes are closed.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Errrrrinnnn, it’s pretty.”

Erin opened her eyes. Holtzmann was pretty.

Wait, the view. The view was pretty. Holtzmann just happened to feature significantly in the view.

She had her arms over her head and her legs outstretched, in what would be an ideal position to make a snow angel. Her grin was easy and wide, and her (effortless? intricate? both?) hairdo was coming partly undone, strands of blond waves floating in the breeze.

It was a great view.

Erin didn’t look down. There was no need to overly test her fear of heights. But she decided that the rush of air against her face and Holtzmann’s occasional cackling laughter made a nice combination.

She tried a small experimental _whoop_.

Holtzmann’s smile, if possible, grew even wider.

* * *

 

They had definitely gotten their money’s worth with the wristbands.

Eight rides later (not including the repeats, such as the pirate ship that Holtzmann made them go on four consecutive times), they sat across from each other at a small wooden table. On the bench next to Erin was a gigantic plush ghost with its tongue sticking out.

True to her word, Holtzmann had won her a stuffed animal. She had bought darts for the balloon-popping game, and she was _good_ at it. The stuffed ghost was the largest prize available; it was easily three times the size of Erin’s head.

Holtzmann had handed the toy to Erin like a trophy, saying proudly, “A ghost for a Ghost Girl.”

And when _she_ said the nickname, it wasn’t bad. It was better than not-bad. It was almost … sweet, and that was a word that normally seemed very ill-suited to Holtzmann.

On the table in between them was a funnel cake. Holtzmann had wanted to eat something earlier (“Deep-fried Twinkies, Erin!” Then, “Deep-fried Oreos, Erin!”) but Erin was adamant about waiting until after all the upside-down rides.

They hadn’t been able to agree on a topping for the funnel cake—primarily because Holtzmann wanted multiple toppings, and Erin wasn’t picky, but she did like to _pick_ ; not all questions were meant to be answered with “all of the above”—but Holtzmann had insisted that they share. So, like with a takeout pizza, they asked for Erin’s toppings on the left and Holtzmann’s on the right.

Which was why the funnel cake in front of them was half caramel (Erin’s side) and half caramel-fudge-powdered-sugar-strawberry-cinnamon-marshmallow-butterscotch with whipped cream and chocolate chips (Holtzmann’s side).

Erin was cutting off a bite-sized piece of her side with a plastic fork when she felt Holtzmann’s eyes boring into her.

“What?” she said.

“You’re eating a funnel cake with a fork and knife.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think they even _had_ forks and knives at the funnel cake stand.”

“They did, too,” Erin said defensively. They didn’t. She’d taken them from a Vietnamese food truck. “You just couldn’t see over your tower of toppings.”

Holtzmann considered said tower and grinned. “Touché.”

She tore off a chunk of funnel cake—theoretically there was funnel cake under there somewhere—and popped it into her mouth. Her fingers were a kaleidoscope of sticky sauces and she licked off each of them individually before diving back in for her next piece.

“Oh,” Erin noticed. A dollop of whipped cream had ended up on the bridge of Holtzmann’s nose.

“Hmm?”

“You missed a spot.”

Holtzmann examined her fingers. “Nope,” she said. “Squeaky clean.”

She waggled her fingers and eyebrows at Erin, and the movement made the whipped cream slide further down toward the tip of her nose. Erin laughed.

“Not there. There,” she said, pointing.

Holtzmann lifted a hand to her face, not remotely the same place Erin was indicating.

“No,” said Erin, laughing harder now, “There.”

Holtzmann pointed questioningly at her forehead.

Erin sighed. “ _There_ , you weirdo,” she said, and she leaned forward to swipe off the whipped cream herself, trying not to think about how very cliché this was but there was _actually whipped cream on Holtzmann’s nose_ and she couldn’t just leave it there, could she?

Then Holtzmann covered Erin’s index finger with her lips and all logical thoughts abandoned her.

Her finger was in Holtzmann’s mouth.

Her _finger_ was inside Jillian Holtzmann’s _mouth_.

Holtzmann released it with a soft pop. Erin remained frozen, arm still extended across the table, face paralyzed in a mask of shock.

Holtzmann twisted her lips into something that was maybe teasing, maybe thoughtful.

“Can’t let the fluffy white stuff go to waste,” she said by way of explanation, shrugging.

At last Erin’s brain proved itself capable of thought again, but the only thought that came to her was _Steely ice blue_. Great. That again. Super useful.

“Erin?” said Holtzmann, her good-natured expression drooping a bit. “You okay?”

Erin finally pulled back her hand and put it in her lap, fairly certain she wasn’t going to be able to eat with it anymore.

“Yep,” she said. “So okay. Spectacular. So. Um.” She cleared her throat. “Have you gotten your fill of rides yet?”

Holtzmann shook her head. “Oh, never, not possible,” she said. “But …” she paused. “I, uh …”

Her hand went to tug at her ear, a sign that she felt out of her element. A sign that feelings or sincerity were incoming.

Erin waited.

Holtzmann took a breath.

“We can stop because you have been, are excellent, thank you for coming it made me happy, we are talking highlight of the week right here, even though we busted a ghost with a bowtie to rival one of yours today, that is a lie, I’m sorry I take it back, not even a spectral bowtie can rival an Erin Gilbert bowtie, they are one-of-a-kind like you are one-of-a-kind and this is lovely and I love being your friend and so yes I am fine we can stop with the rides thank you yes.”

It was all very stilted and uncertain and Erin loved her all the more for it.

Wait, loved?

“Holtzmann,” she said, “do you want to ride the Ferris wheel before we go? Since, you know, it’s for the end of the evening.”

Holtzmann relaxed visibly and looked down at her watch. “Perfect. We’ll be right on time.”

Erin eyed her suspiciously. “Right on time for what?”

“Exactly.”

All traces of seriousness gone, Holtzmann dove into the funnel cake again, this time face-first, and surfaced with a creamy white beard and mustache.

“It’s a surpriiiiiiiiiise.”

She winked at Erin and licked her lips, somehow managing to be both awkward and suave at the same time.

“Are you gonna wipe it off again?” she asked.

Erin took one look and tossed a paper napkin at her face. There was only so much of this a person could take.

* * *

 

“What are you looking at?”

Holtzmann shrugged. “Not important, just trying to see what the gondolas are like, hoping we get a good one.”

Erin squinted. “They all look the same.”

“The colors are different.”

“Oh.” Erin considered. “Do you want the yellow one?”

“Well, that would be _nice_ —”

“I will get you the yellow one,” said Erin.

“You will?”

Erin nodded decisively. If there was one thing she could do, it was equations. (There were actually a lot of things she could do. She also knew how to make waffles from scratch, play harmonica, and speak sixth-grade Spanish.)

She took Holtzmann’s hand in hers, almost instinctively, and quickly calculated the number of groups in front of them and how many gondolas they would each occupy. She incorporated the loading pattern—boarding was on every third gondola to keep the ride balanced before it was full. She led Holtzmann backwards in line until she was satisfied.

Sure enough, they were seated in the yellow compartment. Its paint was sparkly and bright, but not nearly as sparkly or bright as Holtzmann’s face when she realized Erin had succeeded.

Erin slid in first, their hands still attached, and Holtzmann followed, sliding all the way across the seat to leave room for the plush ghost. She slouched down so that her feet dangled out of the ride. Her hip bumped into Erin’s, and she hadn’t said anything or stopped staring at her for the past forty-seven seconds.

Yes, Erin was counting.

The way Holtzmann was looking at her—it was as if she had built the Ferris wheel, not just done some simple mental math. Had she ever been looked at like that before?

Then Holtzmann tucked herself even closer and leaned her head onto Erin’s shoulder. More accurately, onto the space between her shoulder and chest, and _of course_ her head would fit there perfectly. Erin could feel her breath against her collarbones and her hair against her jaw.

Holtzmann had really, really soft hair. Like a pillow made out of clouds and bunny rabbits and moss.

Ugh. Thank goodness she hadn’t said _that_ out loud.

“Is this okay?” Holtzmann said, perhaps picking up on how still Erin had become.

Erin nodded, then remembered Holtzmann couldn’t see her face anymore and managed a verbal yes. She inhaled slowly.

Holtzmann reached up a hand and patted blindly at Erin’s face, the way one might pat a puppy on the head.

“My knight in shining tweed,” she said, even though Erin hadn’t worn any tweed in at least a week.

The gondola went up, and so did Erin’s heart rate. But this time she didn’t think it was because of the height.

Then the sky exploded.

Erin practically leapt out of her skin, jostling Holtzmann from her position against her shoulder.

“Surprise!”

“Fireworks?”

“I believe that’s what one calls them, yes.”

There were golden and red and green bursts of light crackling and whistling and dancing across the black background of the sky, and the Ferris wheel was clearly the best vantage point for watching them.

“Holtz,” said Erin softly, “did you plan the timing of this from when we arrived?”

Holtzmann scoffed, not meeting her eyes. “Pssh. I don’t plan.” But the way she bit her lip after she said it betrayed her.

“Well,” said Erin, “I can see now why everyone knows that the Ferris wheel is for the end of the evening.”

Holtzmann looked away from the fireworks and at her. Their gondola reached the top of the Ferris wheel, and the proximity of Holtzmann’s (clean and perfect) face made Erin so nervous that she entirely forgot to be afraid of heights.

She leaned forward two inches, maybe three, and kissed her.

For one second, maybe two, the world was a blissful explosion of actual fireworks and emotional fireworks. Erin hadn’t even known it was possible to feel so many things at once. She was fairly certain she had just discovered five new emotions in that moment.

Holtzmann-up-close smelled like Christmas: cinnamon and oranges and something burning (best not to think about the reason for that one).

She tasted like funnel cake.

And then Erin pulled back, horrified with herself, terrified that she had ruined everything beyond the point that it could be fixed or salvaged, that she might lose Holtzmann, and she couldn’t, not now that she had let her become so damn _important_ to her, and—

“I’m sorry,” she said, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I’m going to forget I did that and—”

“Don’t,” said Holtzmann. Her mouth was slightly agape, and why couldn’t Erin stop looking at her mouth?

“What?”

“Don’t forget,” said Holtzmann firmly. “Do it again.”

Erin blinked. “I … what?”

“Kiss me,” said Holtzmann. “Kiss me again.”

So Erin did. And the resulting pyrotechnics were infinitely better than the ones in the sky.

* * *

 

They parted in the hallway when they got back to the hotel. Erin was sharing a room with Abby, and Holtzmann was with Patty in the adjacent room.

Erin stuck her keycard in the door without paying attention, and nothing happened.

She looked down; she had inserted it upside down. It took another two tries to get the green light to flash, an agonizing quarter-of-a-minute during which Erin felt Holtzmann watching her instead of going into her own room.

Erin pushed the door open a crack.

“Goodnight, Holtzmann,” she said, glancing up.

Holtzmann tilted her head when she looked at her. Her expression was … soft, Erin thought.

“Sleep tight, Gilbert,” Holtzmann said, before leaning over and kissing Erin next to the corner of her mouth. Was it technically her cheek? Her lips? She couldn’t quite tell.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Holtzmann added.

Erin stared back at Holtzmann for a beat, missing the scent of Christmas when she drew back.

“I think this hotel is too fancy for those,” she said before grinning and stepping into her room.

The door clicked behind her, and she leaned against it. Abby was already asleep. An infomercial murmured in the background about a wooden soup spoon that reduced spillage. Erin wondered vaguely whether it had come on after she fell asleep or if Abby had been watching it intentionally.

She got ready for bed as quietly as possible, wondering what the housekeeper would think when they came the next day and found a viscous green substance in the sink and shower.

Minutes later, she slipped into her bed and sank into the fluffy hotel pillows. She reached for the remote to turn off the television.

The soup spoon presenter was holding a bowl of broth next to his face and inhaling it. He ladled out a mouthful with his wooden spoon and sipped it reverently.

“Mmm,” he said. “Is there anything that tastes better than warm soup on a cool day? Anything that has a better mouthfeel?”

“Yes,” Erin whispered to the screen. Holtzmann had a great mouthfeel.

She pushed the power button.

* * *

 

Erin didn’t mention anything to Abby when they woke up the next morning, because she thought she ought to discuss it with Holtzmann first. At the continental breakfast, Holtzmann acted like nothing had changed, and it was clear that Patty noticed nothing amiss. So Erin figured they would talk about it later.

But Holtzmann didn’t say anything about it during the ride back to the city.

She didn’t say anything when they got back to the firehouse.

She didn’t even say anything when Erin followed her up to her lab a few hours later and they were alone, and that was when Erin really started to worry.

Holtzmann was drumming her fingers against a prototype while she stared at some plans strewn across her desk. Erin shifted uncomfortably at the top of the stairs.

“Holtz?” she said.

“Mm?” Holtzmann didn’t even look up.

“I—I thought maybe we could talk—”

“Can we talk later, Erin? I’m in the middle of something time-sensitive, not exactly safe to leave it at the moment.”

Erin understood for the first time, first-hand, what literary heroines were feeling when the narrator wrote, “Her heart sank.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively and felt her voice shoot up half an octave when she spoke. 

“Uh-huh, yes, fine, okay, good luck with that then.”

She hurried back down the stairs and melted into her chair, burying her face in her hands.

Patty, lounging on the couch with a book called _The Most Haunted Parks in America_ , looked up.

“You okay, honey?” she asked.

Erin made a noncommittal noise in her throat. Through the slits in her fingers, she saw Patty close the book and look at her with concern.

“Fine,” managed Erin. “Just tired.”

“Holtzy keep you out late at the fair?”

Erin sucked in a breath. “Yeah.”

She had been foolish to think that Holtzmann felt the same way about her. Holtzmann was young, not full of anxiety, and she probably had women lining up to court her. Women who didn’t use words like “court.” Erin had done the thing she was afraid of doing, ruining their friendship, and Holtzmann wouldn’t even talk to her about it.

“I think I’m going to get a coffee,” she said, getting to her feet. “It’s nice out. I’ll walk. Be back soon.”

“Want company?” Patty offered.

“No thanks,” said Erin. “That looks like a great book, I’d hate to tear you away.”

She grabbed her purse, trying to ignore the confused look Patty was giving her, and headed outside.

It wasn’t actually nice out. It was hot and humid, and within a couple blocks Erin’s hair was sticking to the back of her neck. But it was a distraction. She got her coffee iced instead of hot and sat on a bench to drink it. She stayed there as long as she thought she could without worrying the others, then got to her feet to trek back to the firehouse.

Back to Holtzmann.

When she stepped back in, Patty was gone, _The Most Haunted Parks in America_ left abandoned on the couch. She didn’t see Abby either, but judging from the intermittent clanging she heard upstairs, Holtzmann was still at work.

Erin walked back over to her desk and noticed something different about it.

There was a metal box in the middle.

She set down her purse and her empty coffee cup and poked the box warily with her index finger.

“You’re back.”

Erin jumped. Holtzmann was peering at her upside down from the hole in the ceiling for the firefighters’ pole.

“I … yes,” she said.

“You were gone a long time. I thought maybe you left because you were mad at me.”

Erin shook her head. It wasn’t Holtzmann’s fault she didn’t like her back.

“Have you looked in your box?”

“No,” said Erin.

Holtzmann wrapped her legs around the pole and slid down to the first floor at a speed that was definitely not safe, then sauntered over to Erin. She leaned against the desk and looked up at Erin expectantly.

“Open it,” she said.

Erin wasn’t entirely sure _how_ to open it. There weren’t any discernible buttons or latches. But as soon as she put both hands on the sides, the top of the box retracted, revealing …

“A cake?” Erin asked.

“It’s a pineapple upside-down cake,” Holtzmann clarified, standing straighter and pointing at the pastry. “It took me all afternoon to make, especially using my tools in the lab instead of a stove, but it seemed appropriate after last night.”

“I …” started Erin, without knowing how to complete the sentence. She settled on, “I don’t understand.”

Holtzmann shrugged. “You went on all the upside-down rides with me. Multiple times. Even though you didn’t like it.”

“I liked it,” Erin protested, but Holtzmann wasn’t finished.

“You put on your fair wristband so neatly. You cut the funnel cake with a plastic knife. You calculated the perfect spot in line at the Ferris wheel. You … you kissed me in a yellow gondola next to a stuffed ghost. So you make … my heart feel like that, too. Upside down.”

Erin blinked.

“Do you want to go on some dates with me?” Holtzmann said. “I mean, we can just start with one in case you don’t like it—”

“You like me?” Erin breathed, interrupting her.

It was Holtzmann’s turn to look dumbfounded.

“Uh,” she said. “Obviously.” She gestured at the cake. “A lot,” she added. “For. A while.”

“Earlier … you didn’t want to talk to me because you were baking a cake to ask me out?”

Holtzmann nodded. “I wanted to give it to you ASAP. Also, it’s the first time I’ve tried baking with unstable isotopes. I needed to focus.”

“Is it even safe to eat this cake?”

“Probably not.”

“Holtz, did you make me a radioactive cake?”

“Maaaaaybe.”

Erin stepped forward in a sudden rush, grabbing the straps of Holtzmann’s overalls to anchor herself, and pressed their lips together again, this time with the knowledge that everything she felt was reciprocated.

Holtzmann responded immediately, placing her hands on Erin’s hips and tugging her in closer. Erin discovered that literal fireworks weren’t necessary for her to still experience the metaphorical kind.

She lifted her hands to Holtzmann’s face and kept kissing her. She could do this forever, she thought, and be happy. Except that she was feeling rather dizzy and she might eventually faint from the assault on her senses. But if kissing Holtzmann was detrimental to the health, well, there were worse ways to go.

When she pulled back, Holtzmann was looking at her rather dazedly.

“I definitely want to go on some dates with you,” Erin said.

Holtzmann grinned and pulled her back in. Her grip was looser now, her arms looped lightly around Erin’s waist. But the contact still made Erin shiver. She let her forehead drop down onto Holtzmann’s shoulder and said what she was thinking before she could talk herself out of it.

“You make me feel upside down, too.”


End file.
